


Do or Die

by spangelbanger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangelbanger/pseuds/spangelbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Classic Fuck or Die curse, doesn't quite go the way it's suppose to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“How is he?” The question hung in the air, thick with fear.   
“Not good,” The answer came slowly like Cas was afraid of how he'd react.   
“There has to be something you can do.” Dean growled, starting toward the door then turning away and pacing. His long legs covering the distance of the hall in a few short steps, forcing him to stop and turn around. He made it back to the door again and had to fight to keep from reaching for the door knob.   
“I can let him sleep, make it easier, but the progression,” He shrugged, “If I could stop it I would have already.”   
“Damn it Cas.” Dean's fist hit the wall, succeeding in nothing but sending a burst of pain through his wrist and knuckles. “There has to be a way.”   
“I'll do everything I can.” Cas promised, walking toward the bunker library like he had a clue what he was looking for.   
Dean stared at the door. It took everything he had not to wrench the door off it's hinges. It took everything he had to ignore the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. His fist clenched and unclenched. He needed to do something, something to hunt. The need clawed in him the want to hurt something, to destroy someone, it burned through him like liquid fire. He heard his name whispered in a feverish litany.   
He turned away forcing his back straight, forcing himself to look ahead and not behind. If there was an answer it was somewhere else. Not locked in that room with Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't dawn on him until he was standing over Cas' shoulder that he was sitting where Sam had been a hundred times already, getting as close to an answer for Sam as the one they had found for Dean's own curse. He rubbed absentmindedly at his arm.   
“Are you okay?” Cas asked, his eyes on the spot that held deans own fixation.   
“Peachy.” Dean muttered, “so this thing, what have you figured out.”   
“I don't know.” Cas said, “Succubus, maybe.”   
“Maybe,”   
“I'm not sure. Possible a nymph.” His face pinched in concentration, he scanned over the files and books looking for anything that would help. “it could just be a spell.” He said flipping over another page. “I'm not saying there isn't an answer, I'm just saying, you need to be prepared for the possibility we may not find it in time.”   
“Cas,” Dean swallowed looking toward the room, “I can't do this without him.”   
Cas nodded. “There is the obvious answer.”  
“Find something else, anything else, even if it's only temporary.” He stood up pushing the chair aay from the table.  
“Where are you going?” Cas asked him almost panicking   
“I'm going to talk to my brother.” Dean said.   
“are you sure that's wise?”   
Dean shrugged, there were some things he knew he couldn't do. Wouldn't do even to save Sam, not because he didn't want to save Sam but because some things Sam shouldn't have to live with. He stopped by the kitchen long enough to pull a bottle of Jack out of the freezer. He grabbed two glasses even though he was almost completely possitive he'd be the only one drinking.   
The door opened on silent hinges. Dean stepped inside the room, closed the door behind him before turning on the light.   
“Not looking so hot.” Dean whispered moving to stand beside the bed. Sams' skin was milk white, pale and wet with a layer of sweat. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his lips were so translucent it was a mockery of their normal pink. “You know you'd think they'd fix it so it made you more attractive not less if they expect you to get laid.” Dean muttered opening the bottle of whiskey and pouring a small amount in the bottom of the glass. “Come on,” Dean whispered, “Not sure if it will help, but it can't hurt right.” He held the glass out to Sam that took it with a trembling hand. Dean helped him sit up putting pillows behind him so Sam could lean against the headboard.   
“You need to leave.” Sam said softly finger rubbing against the rim of the glass, not willing to meet Dean's eyes.   
“I'm not leaving you alone.” Dean argued.   
“Dean, please, it's bad enough without you watching, if you stay I can't promise I can stay in control,” His eyes flicked up to Dean's and for a second it was worse because he could see the effects of the spell burning in Sam's eyes, could see how badly he wanted to give into it, and beg Dean to help him. He wouldn't though, too stubborn to beg for himself. He might have begged for Dean, if it were Dean instead. The knowledge didn't help. Dean reached out a hand, brushing the sweat soaked hair out of Sam's face, “We're going to fix this, kay Sammy? Cas is working on it.” Dean pretended not to notice the way his eyes slipped closed, lips parting slightly at the touch.   
Sam jerked away from the touch, “get out.” He said harshly, his voice firm even when he started trembling.   
Dean ignored him. His hand going to the back of Sam's neck and rubbing the tense muscles there. The sound out of Sam's mouth was pornographic. Then Sam swallowed the whiskey in the glass and shoved it into Dean's hand, “stop Dean.” He said, and it looked like the hardest words he'd ever had to say out loud. “If you don't stop, I won't be able to help myself.”   
“I want to help you,” Dean said softly, “if this helps, if we can buy a little time, then maybe cas can figure this out.”   
“It doesn't help.” Sam said trying to sound firm, trying to mean it, when Dean moved his hand away though the trembling started again.   
“I think it does.” Dean said. He put his hand back on Sam's neck rubbing until the tremors went away, “I'm going to take care of you, buy us a little more time.” He swallowed against the lump that was forming in his throat, against the tears that were starting to burn the back of his eyes. “just, hold on for me, we'll fix this.”   
Dean pulled his hand away and walked out the door. He expected to hear it lock behind him, but didn't stick around to find out. In minutes he was back, the first aid kit in one hand, a bottle of massage oil he'd never got to use for it's intended purpose in the other.   
“Sam.” He called softly before opening the door. Sam looked no different than before, except maybe he was a little less pale. Maybe this would be enough. He sat the stuff down by the bed, poured a drink in his own glass, half afraid whatever was hitting Sam might be contagious. He downed it quickly before he ran his hand down Sam's arm, his eyes opened slowly blinking blearily, then hes face changed, distorting under the influence of some unseen pain. “I've got you Sammy,” Dean whispered reaching for the buttons on his shirt.   
With clumsy fingers Sam tried to help him get it off. Dean pushed his hands away impatiently, “Let me take care of it.” Sam's fingers ended up tugging at the button on his jeans. “No, Sam.” Dean said pulling his hands away, “Just need to get your shirt off for now.”   
There was a strangled noise from Sam, and then his hands fell away completely tangling in the blanket on either side of him while Dean got the damn buttons open. He stripped the shirt off Sam and carefully dodged his seeking hands. Catching both Sam's wrists in one of his hands. “Just, keep em to yourself.” He said jerking the pillows that he'd just put behind Sam off the bed and onto the floor. “Roll over.” Dean ordered when the bed was clear of anything but the blanket and sheets. Sam mumbled something but did what Dean said.   
It only took a few seconds before Dean was rubbing his back slowly, talking in a quiet murmer, telling stories about when they were kids hoping to break through to him. Sam groaned when Dean rubbed down his spine. Dean laughed, “Felt good?”   
Sam nodded not answering. Dean pretended not to notice when he rocked his hips down against the mattress. Though Dean could see the way he was chewing on his lip, trying too hard to be still, and be quiet, and not give away how badly he was starving for Dean's touch. Dean followed the path again, Sam's breathing picked up to a slightly faster pace. “You okay?” Dean asked. Not expecting an answer. Sam shifted slightly his hand working it's way underneath his body.   
“Woah, hey no.” Dean grabbed his wrist and pulled his hands up above his head holding them there. “Sam, you hearing me?”   
Sam didn't reply for the longest time, then he nodded. “Dean?”   
“That's right, little brother.” He squeezed the back of Sam's neck emphasising the word brother. “Just this for now, okay?” He said softly. “Wait till I'm out of the room to do anything else.”   
Sam nodded, “Don't go.” He said so quietly Dean wasn't sure he heard him. “Please Dean.” Sam whispered.   
“Not going.” Dean said, “Just trying to help you relax, try to go to sleep if you can.”   
Sam's eyes closed and Dean went back to rubbing his back, stopping only to reapply the oil, to keep his hands moving smoothly across the acres of too hot skin. It took a few minutes before Dean noticed some of the color coming back to Sam's skin. Dean's hands followed his ribs down feeling the layers of muscle over them. Rubbing anywhere that seemed tense before moving on. The next time his hand trailed down the center of Sam's spine a thumb on either side of the bones he felt Sam's entire body go tense beneath him. Dean pulled away startled, afraid he'd hurt him somehow. Sam's breath was coming out in quick pants his lips parted, and his eyes pressed firmly closed. Dean felt the subtle rock of his hips forward and his own cheeks burned scarlett. “Fuck.” The word slipped out without him meaning for it to. He doubted Sam heard him though.   
It was a long time before Dean dared to speak, “I'm going to go talk to Cas, you gonna be alright by yourself.”   
Sam nodded burying his face in his arm not looking at Dean. Dean thought maybe he should say something reassuring, instead he poured another shot in the glass before walking out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well?” Dean asked sitting back down across from Cas.  
“How is he?” Cas asked not looking up.  
“We might have bought us a few hours, or hell, maybe we're damn lucky and that's all he needed was a little pressure relief.”  
“You've never been lucky.” Cas said softly not asking how Dean bought them time, or why he was so sure they had.  
Dean was staring at the whiskey in his glass, he left the bottle in Sam's room, but didn't want to go back and get it. Not after what had happened.  
“Dean?” He looked up to see Sam barely standing leaning against the wall for support. The glass clinked against the table top almost tipping over in his rush to get to Sam. “hey, you okay?” He asked scanning over him for some sign that he was somehow worse instead of better. One hand on Sam's elbow for support the other resting against his waist holding him up.  
Once he slumped against the support of Dean Sam seemed to actually be able to hold himself up. “You have to,” He said, his eyes blinking trying to keep tears at bay. Sam reached behind his back and pulled out Dean's gun putting it in his hand. He pointed the barrel at his own heart. Holding it there. “Please.”  
“No.” Dean said, “we will find a way to fix this, but not like this.”  
“Dean, please, I don't want what this is making me want, I don't want these thoughts in my head, they're not mine.”  
“I know.” Dean whispered, “Just, hold on a little longer, we'll figure it out.” Cas was there helping him guide Sam back to his room. Easing him back onto the bed. The room had the distinct smell of hot sweat. Cas slipped back out without a word leaving them alone. “Listen, it's better now right, then it was a little while ago.”  
Sam agreed slowly, “thank you,,” he said softly.  
“No problem.” Dean said, “I want you to try something, I want you to see if you can hold it off on your own. With out me touching you.” Dean wasn't sure what he was trying to say, or rather, he didn't want to be the one to say it. “Just do that again, see if it gets any better, or if it gets worse, or if nothing happens, okay, can you just try for me Sammy?”  
Sam looked like he wanted to say no, looked like he wanted to argue. “It's worth a shot.” He said after thinking it over. “I mean it hasn't worked so far, but maybe,” Dean noticed the way he blushed, “since you technically told me to, it might work.”  
“I don't care how you do it.” Dean said, “just do whatever it takes to buy us a little more time, hell at this point a few extra minutes might help.”  
Dean took the whiskey with him this time when he left closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

“I'm sorry Sammy.” Dean whispered, he was talking to the immobile form on his brothers bed, breath coming out in ragged gasps. “I mean there's a lot things that I would do for you, this was just too much.” He dropped the empty bottle from his finger tips. It didn't matter, Cas had left to find some help from some of his remaining friends and Sam was past caring, had been for a few hours. Dean had begged for any other answer, but none came. He waited too long. Sam wouldn't wake up. It didn't matter how much he begged, and pleaded, and ran his hands across Sam's skin he was still, and quiet, his skin cool against the touch, only the steady breathing, and the weak point of his pulse let Dean know he wasn't gone yet. Dean felt it then, the steady pull of power in his arm the anger focused soley on the body spread out in front of him. He wanted to hurt him. It wasn't the first time that Dean had felt anger toward his brother, hell wasn't the millionth but he considered how easy it would be just to grab the pillow he'd dropped on the floor hours before and press until the movement stopped.   
Dean itched with the need pulsing through him. Not the intented one, he was sure. He was suppose to be willing to save Sam, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost him. There was a price he just wasn't willing to pay. He slammed the door behind him this time not caring if it disturbed anyone else, kind of hoping it did.   
Sam might have thought he could hide it from Dean. Stashed in a locked box in the back of one of the many rooms. Dean knew where it was, could feel it, calling to him like a siren song, promising relief, promising him the rush of destruction. Promising him everything he knew he couldn't give into.   
He held onto it, feeling the power surging through him, pulling him on a current of murderous rage. There wasn't a thought as he made his way back to Sam. Just the pulse of anger fueling him. The power demanding release, demanding he give into it and finally do the thing the blade was meant for. It taken so long for him to see it clearly. They were always coming to this. They were decendants from the line of Cain and Abel, they were the true vessels of Micheal and Lucifer. They were the opposite sides of the same coin and it only ended one way. Dean knew what he was suppose to do. Had known it since the day his dad died. Minutes after whispering the order in his ear. Save him or kill him. It was his purpose, his truest destiny. He'd fought against it so hard, now, he was finally doing what he should have done a long time ago.   
He pushed the door open with a purpose. He stood for a minute gathering his courage. It should have been easy with the pulsing of the mark pushing him forward, he felt the sick twist of excitement in his guts. Sam would never see it coming, wouldn't know how he died, just that he had. Hell if nothing else Sam would be in heaven in a few moments. An entire eternity of his deanless paradise. With dogs he never should have had, and girls who hadn't even hit puberty. He held the blade up prepared to sink it down into the place at the back of his neck, one smooth cut, he'd never feel it, it wouldn't even hurt.   
Dean reached out his hand pulling Sam's hair out of the way.   
“I can't do this.” He whispered to the silent room, feeling an odd surge of affection for how much Sam had endured. His hand trembled, the blade still singing his song. Still whispering how good it would feel. He felt his hand swinging forward despite his best intentions. Felt the need to kill. The need to end it. And then the pain was through his own stomach. The blade buried in his side from his attempt to stop himself from making the biggest mistake of his life. The rough edges caught against his ribs as he jerked the blade free. His blood soaking onto Sam's bed. There wasn't as much of it as he expected. The world dimmed a little as he stumbled falling to the floor beside the bed. He needed Cas. Needed him to get Sam as far from him as he could before something happened. He fought through the encroaching darkness trying to remember what the bad thing that he was so afraid of happening was. Just something about Sam. Something he had to save Sam from.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a pounding in Dean's ears when he woke up. He could practically feel it vibrating through his body. Otherwise everything felt good. Felt strong, and quiet. The world seemed so much simplier than it had a few minutes before. He couldn't remember why he'd been so worried. There was a ragged breath from the bed beside him, “oh yeah that's why.” he muttered. Dragging himself to his feet. Picking up his blood stained blade and dropping it onto the dresser, it's work for the day done. He looked over the sleeping form of his brother. Not sleeping, he corrected himself, dying. Sam was dying, from a fucking sex curse. He shook his head. And tugged at his brother's hair roughly a mockery of affection. “the shit you get into.” he muttered. “You know for the guy who's suppose to end the world you are the biggest fucking clutz.” He moved around the bed looking at him, not as his brother, but as prey, it wasn't any fun killing someone that couldn't fight back, without the danger that just maybe this one would get the upper hand. Sam had lost that fight so damn many times. The first time fighting for control of Hell's armies. Of course that Sam couldn't have commanded a fucking army even if he figured the damn powers out. He was a kid, a dumb kid, with too much heart, and too much brains, and not nearly enough ambition. Dean had been so proud of him. Now, if he'd just killed that one damn soldier then so much would have been different. Dean wouldn't have gone to hell, for one. So that was on Sam. Hell didn't seem so bad with Crowley running things though, if anything it seemed like a watered down beuarcracy pretending to be what it was when actual bad guys were in charge.  
They had the king of hell wrapped around their fingers and instead of using it, they were still trying so hard to pretend to be good. Crowley had no business as the king of Hell. That was Sam's place. ALWAYS had been, even if Sam was too damn good to take it.  
Maybe that was the reason. Dean was suppose to be a knight of hell. He couldn't work for Crowley. Crowley was a fucking joke. But Sam, that nightmare he'd been juiced up on Demon blood, the ruthlessness without his soul, that beast in charge of hell. Now that'd be a different story. Dean knew there was another option. One they never even considered because they were too fucking good. Too fucking self righteous to look at what was staring them right in the face. It was so easy to grab the nearest knife and drag it across his skin. His blade would have been better, but he figured it had it's fill of blood for one day. He dragged Sam up craddling him close, the too sweet smell of him, so fucking pure. It grated on his nerves. He pressed his bleeding arm against Sam's mouth, “You want me inside you so fucking badly, take it.” He growled. Pressing harder tilting Sam's head back forcing the blood to pour down his throat. Dean almost missed it when Sam swallowed. There was a soft groan from Sam the first sound that he'd made in hours, hell maybe since yesterday. Dean felt the hesitant flick of his tongue against the wound and then the hard drag when Sam's mouth clamped onto his arm. He didn't think Sam was even conscious yet, still hungrily swallowing down every crimson drop Dean could give him. Dean didn't complain or pull away. It wasn't like Sam could kill him, even if he took all of it. There was the soft whine when Dean finally dislodged himself from Sam and stood up. Sam blinked up at him, his tongue trailing over the blood smear on his lip. Dean expected fear. Then again, he hadn't really expected Sam to wake up. Dean grabbed his arm, “I'm not letting you die.” He said softly, focusing on that pulse of fire in his arm, “not now, not ever.” light flowed from him to Sam the mark transferring. Dean pulled away long enough to push the demon blade into Sam's hand watched the way his mouth feel open as the new mark connected with the blade.  
“Feel better?”  
“Yeah, actually.” Sam said looking confused for a minute.  
“Good,” Dean eased the blade from his hand. Sam looked at it like he was confused to how it even got there to begin with. Dean moved closer, “I guess we found the line” his breath was hot against Sam's jaw, “I'm willing to do anything but fuck you.” He growled, “Even this.” The blade sank into the soft tissue of Sam's stomach curving toward his spine. Dean pushed in a little farther. The mark stayed quiet. As he twisted the blade making sure it did the job, making sure the damage was done.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean left him where he was, slumped against the head board, blood dripping in a sticky puddle off the edge of the bed. He went through the bunker getting everything he needed and loading it into the Impala. He wasn't expecting it when he was shoved roughly against one of the columns in the garage and held there. Sam walked toward him slowly watching him like he was trying to figure out what he wanted to do first. His hand clenched and unclenched slowly in weird sync with his steps. Dean grinned at him, “Morning sunshine.”   
“You tricked me.” Sam said softly, “I thought you were finally going to let me go.”   
“Never,” Dean said smiling. The pressure let up and he slipped down onto his feet. “Done with the power test already?”   
Sam ignored him, “You got a hunt lined up?”   
“More like hostile take over.” Dean offered. “Need to make a call, get your shit.”   
Dean was pulling things out of the trunk that could cause them more problems then they were worth when Sam came back.   
“You good?”   
“Never better.” Sam said meaning it, “Kinda want to find something to kill.”  
“Good, we've got work to do.” Dean said slamming the trunk. It echoed loud in the garage.


End file.
